


Do With Me What You Want But Don't Tell a Soul

by dynamicsymmetry



Series: Pacify [21]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Play, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, F/M, Femdom, Incest Play, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sex Toys, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 15:16:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4569324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dynamicsymmetry/pseuds/dynamicsymmetry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After last time, Daryl said he didn't want to stop belonging to Beth. There are consequences for that. There are things he's going to have to do. Things he's going to have done to him.</p><p>It's not necessarily a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do With Me What You Want But Don't Tell a Soul

**Author's Note:**

> oh god someone help me
> 
> Just because someone asked: no, Pacify is not going to be all daddy kink OR all femdom from here on out. This is a phase and it feels natural for these characters right now within the overall arc this is, and I'm'a wallow in it.
> 
> The tennis shoes are Mollie's fault. Most things are.

_I don't wanna stop belongin' to you._

He believed it. He believes _her_. He's always belonged to her is the thing - one way or the other she's always had him and he's never been able to disobey her. She told him - in her ways - to bind her, choke her, hit her, _worse,_ and he has and he's learned that it's not _worse,_ not _worse_ at all. But this is new, so much closer to the surface and so much rawer, so many more edges, and he's still learning how to navigate it. The fear he mostly shed - he's feeling the ghost of it now. Not even of anything specific. Not that he'll fuck up or hurt her or she'll hurt _him._

Just that he's so open like this. He can't stop her. He _can,_ he has the same word she does and he knows he can use it - but he also can't.

So he comes back in one evening after helping a newcomer get oriented - turns out he's actually not terrible at that, and suspects it might be Aaron's bad influence - and when he walks in the door and she's on the floor with her legs spread and her shirt rucked up under her arms, her nipples standing out hard and teased under the soft fabric of the pink cotton bra she likes to wear for this, her jeans in an untidy pile next to her and her matching pair of panties kicked carelessly down around one ankle and fucking _white tennis shoes_ on her feet, and her fingers toying slowly with her swollen little clit and that _smile_ on her face, he has no idea what the fuck to do.

Except anything she wants.

He just stands there and stares at her lying in a pool of early evening sunlight, her hair rich gold against deeper-hued hardwood. She's shining, shining with that light and with her own arousal, fingers and the lips of cunt and the inside of her thighs glistening so _wet,_ her other set of lips just as wet and parted in a soft moan as she circles her left nipple with her thumb.

Her hair. Pulled into twin ponytails. Her hairless cunt, the things she's been _saying,_ and now _this._

She got him fucked up over this and she's just fucking him up worse and worse, and he loves it. Because it's okay. It's not something he has to fear. It's not something he would actually _want_ \- he's sure of that much. And no one is getting hurt.

Unless it's him, and he wants to be hurt by her. Oh my _God,_ yes.

"Hi, Daddy." She lifts her head and gives him a lazy smile. "I've been waitin'. I couldn't wait for everythin', though. I had to play with myself. Just a little. That's okay, right?"

He swallows. Nods. His hands are loose at his sides, quivering slightly with all the potential action they contain. "Can do whatever you want, honey."

"You spoil me, Daddy." She smiles wider, releases her breast and pushes herself up a little on her hand. "But you already do things you shouldn't. Like now." She giggles, her gaze dropping from his face and past his middle, below his belt, and he knows what she's seeing. He can feel his cock straining against his pants. She has him better trained than he even realized. "Look how hard you are. All hard for your little girl. If anyone knew, Daddy." Pushing herself up even further, and she's giving him a speculative look as she slides a finger into her cunt with a soft squelch. "You'd be in so much _trouble._ "

He bites his lip to keep back his whimper. It's a token resistance. He doesn't even mean it. It doesn't even work. "Baby, I... I really don't think we should."

"I want to." It comes out almost in a growl as she starts to pump her finger - and he could be there. She might let him, if he behaves himself. "Want you to fuck me, Daddy. I don't care if it's wrong. I don't want anyone but you, I wanna make you feel so good..."

"You can't tell anyone." Moving forward a little now. She didn't say he could but he'll risk it, because every atom of every cell in his body is screaming for her.

She shakes her head, her eyes wide and innocent even if her smile is nothing of the kind. "I won't, Daddy."

"Our secret, baby?"

"Just ours." She pushes _deep,_ deep as she can go, and as her eyes roll up her head drops back and the last word disintegrates into a thick groan. "Like what I know you want." And suddenly she has her feet under her and she's getting easily to them, straightening up and kicking her panties away, tugging her shirt off over her head and discarding it as well and leaving her in just her bra and her tennis shoes. Tennis shoes which, he abruptly sees, are laced with pink glitter.

_Fuck._

He really does wonder about himself sometimes. Not seriously, not _really_ worried, but yeah.

She's heading toward the sofa, tossing her hair and practically _skipping,_ sucking at her finger and grinning at him over her shoulder. "I know what you've been thinkin' about, Daddy." She extends her other hand, beckoning, and he goes with no more hesitation. "Comin' into my room at night. Gettin' in bed with me, havin' my tight little pussy. You know I'd let you. Let you have it anytime you want." She pauses this stream of wonderful, horrific obscenity and turns around, sinks down onto the sofa with her legs still spread wide, her fingers returning to her cunt as she smiles up at him. "You can have it right now. You wanna taste me, Daddy?"

He knows he'll be dropping eventually, but it's all he can do to keep from going down, feeling like he's near bursting open, pounding with blood and need and so much heat he has no idea why his skin isn't bubbling. Not even to be in her, or to have what she's tantalizing him with, but to _please_ her, which is all he's ever really wanted, and he's so grateful to her for giving him that chance now.

And he's so fucked up, and he's so fucked, and it's so fantastic.

"I always wanna taste you, baby girl."

"Get on your knees, Daddy," she murmurs - _purrs._ "You want my sweet pussy, you get on your knees for me."

He drops. Collapses. It's so hard he winces in pain, and it's perfect, his cock a trapped pulsing nightmare between his legs and the smell of her washing over him, the deep pink folds of her pretty lips, her finger extending gossamer strands of her juices as it fucks in and out of her. He curves a hand over her inner thigh and licks his lips - _moisture,_ what a joke, the only wet he's going to get now is her - and flicks his gaze up to her flushed, coolly hungry face.

"Go on, Daddy. I'm your baby, you can take what you want. I'm so wet for you, _God..._ " She clutches at her breast, her other hand still moving, withdrawing and spreading her lips to display herself - the milky trickle seeping out of her. He whimpers again, shivers, and practically _lunges._

She arches under his sudden onslaught, gripping his head with both hands and laughing and slinging a leg over his shoulder, the heel of her tennis shoe rubbing at his back. "That's it, Daddy, that's... _Ahh_... Lick your little girl, lick me all up, that's so _good..._ "

It is good. It's so fucking good. He stabs at her, sweeps up to her clit, laps, sucks at it and at her lips, uses his thumbs to spread her even wider and tickles her hole with the fluttering tip of his tongue. She's flooding onto him, pouring herself out, so _sweet_ and so generous with herself, and he's silently crying her praises - his baby girl, being so good to her daddy. Giving him so much.

He's so lucky.

"Daddy... Oh, I was waitin' so long, _ohh_... You're gonna make me come, you're gonna make me come so _hard_ , this what you want? Thinkin' about... about me? Oh my _God,_ I love your tongue, I love you, Daddy, I'm gonna come _all over_ you..."

He's her supplicant. He's her toy and she's dragging him in against her with her fingers tangled and yanking at his hair and _using_ him on herself. All he can do is fucking _moan._ And not touch himself. Not even palm himself through his pants. Because she hasn't told him to, hasn't told him he can, because there are unspoken rules here that they both implicitly understand and to which they both agree.

So instead he burns.

Burns hotter and his moan is pained when she bucks her hips up and grinds her soaking cunt against his face, arching and shaking and keening _Daddyyyyyyy_ as it slams into her like a shockwave, and he's fucking _drowning_ in her, drinking her like nectar. Holding on as she rides his tongue, holding on because he can't ever in his life do anything else.

He's holding her when she subsides, panting, still gripping him, still pressing his face against her so tight he can hardly breathe. And he takes it, waiting for her to release him. Waiting for her to let him go.

The light kick of her heel against his shoulder. She's laughing again; he can just see her over her shaved mound, slumped back on the sofa and almost reclining, tugging the cups of her bra down to stroke her fingertips over her nipples.

She was always a slut deep down, at least since she came back and came back not completely who she was before, and a long time ago he stopped being afraid of that word. After she did. After she made it clear she _wanted_ him to use it on her, exulted in it, embraced it not as something shameful but as a title she _earns._ Hungry. Insatiable. He never would have thought that of her before that bullet blew both of their worlds apart - that she could be that way. Nice girl, sweet, even _pure_ in a way that felt intensely real rather than some stupid unreachable ideal. Now she's _this._

Except since she put her hands on his throat, it's a whole new thing. How far she's gone. How wicked she is. How much she seems to love how _wrong_ this is. What she's saying. What they're pretending. What it means.

What she can do to him.

She's not alone in loving it. No fucking way.

She's stroking him now, fingers combing through his hair as her breathing slows and her aftershocks die away. Purring again in that sweet little voice that doesn't fool him for a goddamn minute. "You're so good, Daddy. You're so sweet to me." She sighs and he catches a glimpse of her wide, happy smile and warmth floods him as full and heavy as her cunt. "I bet you're so hard now. I bet you can't stand it."

She lifts herself on one elbow, gets a hand under her, sits slowly up and gazes down at him. "Get up, Daddy. Lemme see you."

He gets up. His knees are protesting, aching - there's a rug but it's not very thick - and his jaw hurts but he doesn't care. Or he does, but he's soaking in it. If it pleases her to make him suffer, he'll suffer.

Suffer like the burning, unbearable throb of his cock, roaring for a cunt, a mouth, a hand, friction, _anything._ Standing out against the fabric, straining, and she leans in with her eyes wide and her lips parted and wet and her hair all gold and mussed and gorgeous in those twin ponytails, reaching for him, and he trembles and clenches his hands into fists at his sides. Because she hasn't told him he can touch her, either. Not like he wants to. And there are those fucking _rules._

But she looks up at him as she cups him with her small, hot hand and kneads him, grinning when he lets out a ragged groan. "Oh, Daddy. That's so nice. I love it, I love how _big_ you are."

He never cared about that. It never mattered. He has no pride and nothing to prove in that area, as long as he makes her happy, and he doesn't even really think he _is,_ not significantly more than average. But she says that, in that _voice,_ and it destroys him, and he rolls his hips and groans again.

"Baby, please."

"You need to come, Daddy?" She leans in further and he can feel her breath through two layers of cloth, feel the heat of her when she briefly closes her mouth over him, squeezing with her lips curved over her teeth, letting slip her own soft moan. "I wanna help you. Can I help you? Want your little girl to make you come?"

Can't talk. He nods.

"Tell me, Daddy."

All the rhythm has been dragged out of his breathing by the slower rhythm of her working hand. His lungs keep jumping around. Somehow he gets some air, makes a sentence from it. "Sweetheart... Oh, God... please make me come."

"Alright, Daddy." She laughs again. Giggles. He stares down at her - bra still yanked below her breasts, legs spread and cunt glistening, and those fucking tennis shoes. "But I changed my mind. You're not gonna fuck me. We're gonna do somethin' else." She ducks her head and kisses his trapped shaft, and it's so awful. "I have somethin' new for you to try. It's kind of a present. C'mon."

All at once she's on her feet and taking his hand, wearing another one of those sunny grins, and she tugs him toward the stairs.

And he follows her up them like a fucking dog on a leash.

~

He sees what she's left out on the bed, and though she hasn't said anything about the specifics and though he has no specific reason to assume this one thing is in store for him, he does, he knows what's coming, and his knees get weak all over again.

There at the foot of the bed: the purple ribbed glass sculpture she's taken to using as a dildo and the bottle of lube they use for a number of other things.

He's not afraid. Not of this. He's done it to her, after all, and he knows it doesn't hurt when it's done right. Knows she loves it, knows it can feel amazing. But oh my God.

She comes up behind him, wraps her arms around his waist and kisses his spine. "You should take your clothes off, Daddy," she murmurs - soft but covered in glee. "You'll feel so much better."

Yes, he will. He does.

She gives him a light push as he starts to pull his shirt off over his head and he moves toward the bed as he does, leaving it and then his boots, his belt and pants, shorts, everything. A trail of clothes and himself at the end of it, halted in front of the bed with his cock standing up hard and dark and so desperate, practically dripping precome, and there's that _thing_. That thing she's going to make him take.

It's not all that big but suddenly it looks huge.

_Stop being such a fucking pussy._

Oh, but she's so deliciously terrifying.

Her hands on him, his lower back, down to cup his ass. Squeezing. His teeth catch his lip, bite back a quiet sob. _Girl, please._

"Get on the bed."

Not her little girl voice, for a second. Just hers, husky and hard, unyielding. Christ, is this how he makes her feel? This is _amazing._

He's not her supplicant, and he's not her toy. He's her fucking _slave._

He does what he's told and he does it without any further prompting, climbing onto the bed on his hands and knees because he knows how this goes, but she releases another one of those giggles and slaps him, flat of her hand _hard_ across his ass, and he yelps.

"You're bad, Daddy." Both hands on him again, gripping him. Spreading him. _Oh, fuck._ "You're good, but you're _so_ bad, wantin' this. But I'm gonna make you feel good anyway."

He drops onto his elbows when she pushes on his back with one hand, and as he does he feels her tongue.

He never thought to tell her to do this. Maybe he should have - he's ordered her to give him just about every other kind of pleasure imaginable, to please him in just about every other way. But there's something about this that hasn't _presented itself._ Maybe because he feels so fucking _helpless_ like this, ass in the air and in her hands, her nails digging into him as she licks him - experimentally, almost curiously, like she's not yet sure what it's going to do to him - and he's helpless because of how she has him and he's helpless because it's so. Fucking. _Good._

He's seen what this does to her. But he didn't know. He didn't really know. And he could tell she felt a sliver of shame initially the first time he did it to her, she said it was dirty and he doesn't think that was all part of the role she was playing, and it wasn't and he _told_ her that but now he feels it and it's incredible. So soft and hot and _wet,_ circling him, swirling over him, down low behind his balls and back up again, and it's not like anything else he's ever felt. Wave after wave of electricity pulsing through him and straight into his cock, almost more than he can take, like he really might just come this way, like she could make it that good and make it happen, and when she presses against his hole with the tip of her tongue he feels his eyes snap wide and his nearly constant moans twist up into a panicked sob.

He tilts his head, looks down under his body, and yes: his cock _is_ well and truly dripping now, hanging between his legs and appearing to twitch every time she moves, a drop of precome leaving a long, thin strand as it falls to the bed, more gathering at the tip.

He wants to taste it. Sudden and strong and he doesn't know why and it doesn't matter. He wants to taste it; he doesn't want her to keep the title of _slut_ all to herself.

Jesus God.

Because now it's her finger, slicked and insistent and pressing where her tongue was, about to press _into_ him, and he tenses and whines and she stops.

"It's alright, Daddy." Her breath so warm against his skin, and she kisses his tailbone, nuzzles at him. "I'm gonna make you feel so good. If I don't you can tell me, I'll stop. I just wanna make you happy."

"Oh, _fuck,_ baby..." And really it's amazing he can get that much out.

Another kiss. "Okay, Daddy?"

Christ, he's so happy. He's so happy, she doesn't have to do _anything._ "Alright, baby girl. You can..." He swallows. He's not having any more luck with that than he did before, but he can still taste her on his lips, coating the inside of his mouth. "I want you to."

"Yes, Daddy." As if he's still the one in control of this. That is so _fucking_ hilarious.

And she's pushing into him.

He knows how he has to do this. The first time with her, he told her, guided her - _coached_ her. Learned enough beforehand to know how to do it right, so it didn't hurt. So it felt good. He had his research methods - awkward as fuck but they worked. He went to Aaron. Aaron was very, very amused. Aaron said that yes, he would be Daryl's Gay Friend for this purpose and was very, very helpful. So he knows. He knows he has to relax, he has to breathe through it, he can't tense up or it won't be comfortable. But it's almost impossible not to, because he never has, _never,_ and for a fraction of a second he's being _invaded_ , something being done to him for which his body was _not_ made.

But then. Then he does breathe and she goes still and he finds the center and relaxes, and he _feels_ her.

And it's indescribable.

"Gonna go deeper," she whispers, and again it's just her. No role, no act. Her. Beth. "I'll go slow."

He nods. She does. Deeper. Pausing. Deeper again, until he's lost track, has no sense of how far in him she is, feels like he's falling into the sensation, and when she slides slowly back and presses in again he clenches his teeth and whimpers.

Not because it's bad. Not that at all.

"Is it good?" In and out again, still achingly slow, and he's about to attempt to answer her when she crooks her finger and _touches_ something inside him, something he had no fucking idea was there, and once more his eyes snap open wide and he gasps sharply, hauling in air and clutching it in his lungs.

Just for a second, pleasure so intense it slams against the inside of his skull.

"Daddy?"

"Oh my- Baby, oh _Christ._ " Going simultaneously relaxed and clenched, and now he's rolling his ass back against her hand, all that shame gone, seeking _more_ , because whatever she just did, he wants her to do it again. And again and again and a-fucking- _gain._ "It's so good. Don't- don't stop, baby girl, please..."

She laughs - not a giggle but rich and delighted, and she doesn't stop. She starts fucking him - that's what she's doing, she's _fucking_ him - and when she finally adds a second slender finger and then a third it doesn't hurt at all. He fists the sheets and sobs, his cock like a giant, sweet bruise, and she's calling him her _Daddy_ and she's his _baby girl_ but neither of those things is true anymore.

He doesn't know what he is. Doesn't need to know.

He's whatever she wants him to be.

He has no idea how long it goes on. She's murmuring to him, coaxing him, telling him he's being so good for her, she's going to make it so good for him, she's going to let him come when she thinks he's ready for it but in the meantime isn't this nice? Doesn't he like it? She told him it was going to be nice.

Is he ready?

He has to come back enough to answer that. Or try. For a moment he's not even sure what for. The setting sun is bursting through the gap in the bedroom curtains and hitting the bed, brilliant warm red and gold and blinding him. He shivers, every muscle a wound-up coil, and he says _yes,_ and then her fingers are gone and he makes a weak, disappointed sound.

But when he feels the tip of the glass thing against him and then pushing, entering him so slowly, he knows what he said he was ready for.

It's big. It's bigger than her fingers. It's so slick and smooth, rolling into him in gradual waves with every rise and dip of its ribbed body, rippling inside him, and fuck, will it, please, he didn't tell her because he couldn't but maybe she sensed it anyway, what did it, and then it does - that place inside him that does something  _paradisaical_ to him, and he jams his face against the mattress and keens as she starts to fuck him with it.

They're not playing anymore. It's gone. And it's _not_ gone, it's still there - it's _so fucking there,_ how gloriously fucked up this is when they let it be. Her breaking him like this, doing this to him - that's fine, that's just fine, and it's setting his nerves on fire but there's nothing messed up about it except that he's such a fucking _slut_ for her. But then there's the other side of it - the little story they wove together, that he's a man beset by a demon of a girl, a demon of a _daughter,_ and now she's reduced her own fucking father to this mewling thing coming apart under her, and it's so horribly twisted, so horribly wrong.

It's so horribly wonderful. Because there's nothing in the _world_ he has to be afraid of when it comes to her.

"You're so good." She's panting, breathing hard as she speeds up, fucking him harder, smooth thrusts in and out of him. "You're bein' so good, oh my God, look at you takin' it..." Learned these words from him. She's such a good little student. "You wanna come, Daddy?"

He can manage a mangled _please._

"Tell me. Tell me you wanna come. Tell me to fuck you." She slaps him again, sparks shooting across his skin, and it doesn't hurt _that_ much but he jerks and almost falls. Overloaded. If he comes now he might literally pass the fuck out.

_Bring it._

"I want..." Thin and high through his gritted teeth. "Fuck me, baby. Jesus- Ahh, baby girl, _fuck me,_ make me come, oh my fuckin' _Christ,_ honey, _please..._ "

Well, that was pretty good, all things considered. The remaining sane part of himself is slightly proud.

When she closes a hand around his cock he almost screams. It almost hurts. It feels like he's been hard for _years,_ and he knows he's not going to last and he doesn't; she jerks him fast and rough and _fucks him,_ pumps it into him like a jackhammer, and it's barely seconds before his spine snaps into a sine wave, humping up and then down into a sharp bow-curve, and he bites frantically at the covers and he does scream, because it doesn't feel like he's coming. It feels like he's fucking _exploding._

 _Come for me, Daddy._ Daryl _. Come for me, that's it... Oh, yes, c'mon, you come for me, that's so beautiful._

It is.

~

He doesn't remember falling. He doesn't remember her stopping or pulling the thing out of him. He's curled on his side, heaving in air, shuddering in slow waves, and her sticky fingers are against his lips, nudging them apart. He opens for her, half instinct, and sucks his come off them. Cleans her up.

He's done this too. A lot. He likes his own taste - that wasn't something he had to learn, or get used to. He liked it immediately. But it was different. Coming all over her breasts, onto her face, spattering in ropes across her skin, almost an insult in the sweetest possible way - then cleaning her with his lips and tongue as a way of caring for her, like the words he gives her after. How much he loves her, how proud of her he is.

Now she's making him do it. Gripping his hair with her other hand and lifting his head and _making_ him.

Almost like an insult. In the sweetest possible way.

"Oh, wow," she says softly, and she's Beth again. There's no point in pretending right now. He couldn't keep it up if his life depended on it. He's wreckage.

She sounds very pleased with him.

She releases his head and combs his sweat-damp hair back from his face, kisses his temple. "You're a slut," she whispers, and he smiles.

No, he grins. It's a big, stupid grin. "Mmhmm."

That gets a laugh out of her and she lowers herself, lies down beside him, curls herself around him. Still wearing that bra, he sees when he cracks an eye open, one breast still exposed. Still her hair in tangles half restrained by those little-girl ponytails. Still wearing those fucking tennis shoes.

Sometimes he's still not certain that she's real.

"Love you," she breathes, stroking his hair and his cheek and his arm, and he settles closer to her, almost snuggling. He feels completely uncoiled, unspooled. Emptied out in the most fantastic way, and so filled. He knew she felt something like this when he gets done with her, felt it to a degree himself last time she used him this way, but it's stronger now. He's gone deeper.

He's still pretty sure he's smiling like an idiot.

"You alright?"

Muffled, "Mmhmmmm."

Silence for a while. Just the bed and her hands on him and how weirdly small he feels with her wrapped around him like this, holding him. How good that is.

How safe he feels.

"I love this," she says, low and quiet. "I dunno why."

"You don't gotta know why." The words come out slurred, but at least coherent. Comprehensible. And he thinks maybe she does know why, a little. Like maybe everything he and she have done together has been preparing her for this. To _take_ this.

And it's all been preparing him to give it.

"I love you," he whispers, and that's the last genuine sentence he can form for a while. The last one he has to. He slips in and out of sleep and she holds him, and she can be a tormenting demon one minute and a redeeming angel the next, a strong woman and a wicked girl and his baby, his sweetheart, and she can be all of those things because she's _Beth_ and nothing can contain her.

He's beginning to truly understand how many things he can be, too.


End file.
